Monday's Appointment

On Monday morning, I took Missy to her appointment with the plastic surgeon.  I wrote about how hard it was to think about going, and blogging helped me figure out why I was dreading the appointment so much.  This is an update - my account of how Monday actually went.

I guess every story needs a little bit of comic relief.  Most of my posts don't have ANY comic relief, but this one will.  Any story with 3 preschoolers is bound to have its funny moments.

Comic Relief Moment #1:  So I drove into the hospital parking garage, parked, and proceeded to unload the van.  I pulled my double umbrella stroller out of the back, put Seth in one seat, Missy in the other, and then had Levi climb onto the back.  Then I high-tailed it through the parking garage, pushing a good 90 pounds worth of kids.  We're quite a spectacle.  :-)  Some people look at me like I'm nuts.  Some people smile politely.  Some people comment on how cute the kids are.  Some people say things like, 'Ya know, whatcha need is another kid on there.'

We made our way up to the plastics office, and as soon as we walked into the waiting room, a couple who had already seen their doctor was making their way out of the office - carrying a dark gray infant seat with bright pink trim.

*I'm* supposed to be carrying a baby girl's car seat into this office.

The two receptionists were both helping other patients.  Seth and Missy had climbed up into chairs at the window overlooking the top level of the parking garage and were playing 'I Spy'.  I waited a minute.  Two minutes.  Five minutes.  Good grief.  The wait to check in better not be an indication of how long we may be here today.

Then Levi:  'Mom, I need to go potty.'

*BIG. SIGH.*

Comic Relief Moment #2:  I took all 3 kids to the potty.  I took full advantage of the trip and made them all 'try' in hopes that I wouldn't have to make any more potty trips (because taking 3 small children to the bathroom is no walk in the park).   That must have been the busiest bathroom at Baptist; I think we were able to provide a good laugh for several women that morning.  Seth went first, standing on top of my shoes so that he was tall enough to pee into the potty.  And then:  'Look, Mom!  I did it!'  Missy next, telling me in her best whiny voice, 'But Mom, I don't need to go potty.  I already went.'  (tinkle, tinkle)  Then Levi:  'I don't need to wash my hands.  I didn't touch anything.'  And to top it all off, Seth:  'Mommy, do you need to go pee-pee?'

Yes, we are quite a spectacle.

We went back into the waiting room where another couple carrying another girlie infant car seat was checking out and scheduling their return appointment.

Felt like a knife in my heart.

We didn't have to wait too terribly long (because the potty trip took a good 10 minutes), and we were called back to an exam room.  And we waited some more.

Comic Relief Moment #3:  After waiting about 20 minutes or so, the kids started asking when the doctor was going to come in.  I told them I didn't know, but I hoped it would be really soon.  So Seth (trying to help), in his loudest growly voice, looks at the door and says, 'Doctor, come in here NOW.'  I couldn't help but laugh, which made him think that he should continue.  'Where ARE you, Doctor?!?!'

It didn't work.  The doctor didn't come.

When he finally did come in, it seemed that he had reviewed his notes from Missy's last visit.  But apparently, he doesn't make very good notes.  He said, 'I know that the last time you were here, you were still recovering and we decided to postpone Missy's fistula repair.  Are you in a better place now to go ahead and schedule surgery?'

Umm... what?

If there hadn't been small children present, and if I hadn't been fearful of being slapped with a lawsuit, I might have removed my shoe and thrown it at him.  I was prepared for either complete ignorance, or compassion.  But I was not prepared for that.  Trivializing it.  In fairness to him, I don't think he remembered the circumstances.  Or... maybe he never actually knew the circumstances.  I don't know.  I'm trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I fumbled my way through the rest of the conversation.  We decided to schedule surgery for spring break.  The kids and I had to wait some more for the surgery scheduling lady to come in and talk to me.  They were getting restless.

Comic Relief Moment #4:  When the surgery scheduling lady came in for the second time, Seth had reached his limit.  She was giving me dates and details, I was writing things in my calendar, and Seth was talking the entire time.  'Mommy, I'm ready to go now.  Mommy, can you get up?  Mommy, will you pick me up?'  Finally, he climbed up into my lap (well, he squirmed his way through the hole between my arm and the calendar on my lap where I was writing - and I was trying to finish the conversation with the surgery scheduling lady), put his hands on my cheeks, turned my face to look at him, and said, 'Mommy, it's time to go now.'

The surgery scheduling lady got Seth's subtle 'hint'.  We packed up our stuff and started to head back out to the waiting room.  Several nurses and a couple of the office staff ladies were all sort of parked at the office exit.  And when we walked by, they were saying, 'Oh, look at her.  She is so cute!  She's just adorable! I love her little outfit.  You are just the cutest little thing!'  They were talking about Missy.  And she is cute.  REALLY cute.

But tears stung my eyes.  I was thinking about my other little girl, and how the nurses and office ladies might have been exclaiming over her.

And one more knife - another baby girl headed into the plastics office as we were leaving.

Is someone *trying* to torture me????

I should say - I saw no other children in the office that day.  No 2-year-olds, 4-year-olds, 10-year-olds.  Just babies.  Four babies.  Three of them tiny baby girls.  Sometimes, this really does feel like a cruel joke.  I'm pretty sure this isn't a cruel joke.  I'm pretty sure that God doesn't do that.  But I really don't understand His sovereignty right now.

I wish I had a comic relief moment #5.  I could have used one more.

So that was our trip to the plastic surgeon's office.  It was hard.  One of those mornings that I felt like I could burst into tears at any given moment.  I think if I'd only had Missy with me that day, and not all three of them, it would have been much harder.  Wait - something about that sentence doesn't sound right.  Maybe I should say - having all three of them there prevented me from sitting down in front of the elevators and sobbing.  Not only did they keep me busy, they also distracted me, and even made me laugh a couple times.  :-)